Always, always, plead the fifth.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
“You have a hickey on your neck, you little slut.”
Dammit. That asshole . . .
His meaty finger traced the bodice of my dress. “If you wanted to fuck an icicle, I could have helped you out.”
“Honestly, Dick, it’s the Lord’s day. Let’s keep the penetration talk to a minimum.”
“If you make it up to me, I might forget about all this.” His thumb rubbed the hickey on my neck, and my skin crawled.
“Fortunately, I don’t sleep with my stepsons anymore.” I patted his chest. “Drink?”
“You think I’m going to let him make a fool of my father?” he asked, as I headed to the cupboard.
“What about me? Don’t tell me I’ve grounded myself for a week for nothing?”
He examined a stain on his tie. “Whores will be whores. But Allister crossed a fucking line. I won’t let my father die a laughingstock.”
Translation: he loved a good whore and couldn’t find the will to punish her for being easy. It would be a little counterproductive, considering his career choice and all.
I filled my glass from the faucet. “Well, I doubt Allister will be in for confession anytime soon. Better go make him pay, Dicky.”
Hesitation flickered across his face, and amusement rose in me.
“Aww,” I cooed. “Does the dirty fed scare you?”
He scoffed.
“I don’t blame you. The man is too comfortable around a gun.” I leaned against the counter. “I’m assuming you snuck out of that meeting like the little cockroach you are and nobody else saw this afternoon’s, ah . . . tête-à-tête?”
His eyes narrowed—he didn’t like bugs—but he nodded.
“Well, then, there’s no need to avenge anyone’s honor, is there?”
He rubbed his cheek in thought. “It’s the principle, though.”
“Principles are stupid. Not to mention, I don’t remember you piping up today when that Abelli talked crap about me and your papà.”
“Harmless locker-room talk. Nobody jammed their dick in my father’s wife.” He glared.
“Oh, please. You’re assuming—nothing more. I’d bet you didn’t stick around long enough to see a thing.”
He sniffed, proving that theory correct.
Never thought I could appreciate the fact the dirty fed was a cold-hearted, terrifying bastard until now.
“So, are you going to tell me why you were following me around earlier?” I asked.
“Yeah. You need to get your shit out of this apartment, that’s why.”
I frowned.
“You probably haven’t noticed your husband’s dying, being Allister’s whore and all. The doctor says he’s got a week, tops. So, all this shit?” He made a circle in the air with his forefinger. “Needs to be gone by yesterday.”
“Well, Dicky, that isn’t very hospitable.”